


so long as you don't mind a little dying

by friendly_ficus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, beau is new to being the comforting one but gosh darn it she is trying, cad... buddy... open up..., caring about somebody on purpose, those late-night conversations you can have sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus
Summary: Try as he might he can’t figure out what it is that’s gotten them here, him with unpleasant tea and Beau watching him with godless, faithless eyes, too sharp to do anything but hurt. It’s an unworthy thought, unworthy of both of them, but he’s...“Goodnight,” he says, abrupt, and flees.(Three conversations, three cups of tea; sometimes, you have to push.)
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Beauregard Lionett
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	so long as you don't mind a little dying

**Author's Note:**

> title for this fic is a pull from "The Kingfisher," by Mary Oliver, which is my Caduceus Poem.   
> this is set somewhere pre-destruction of the ball-eater since it takes place on the ship but it’s pretty timeline-ambiguous tbh. i guess post-peace talks pre-rumblecusp? anyway, enjoy!

“Got something to wake me up?” Beau asks, wandering into the galley and spiting the dawn that’s still four hours away. 

It’s a quiet night, all told. The ship sways gently, stars twinkling in the sky above it. He thanks the Wildmother for calm seas every night, and those calm seas have continued.

_ Wake me up  _ for Beau means black tea, over-steeped and bitter. Nothing delicate and nothing to take the edge out of it, just flavor enough to kick your teeth in and make you shudder as you swallow.

Caduceus nods, picking through sachets of herbal blends and the fruit medleys they’re fond of in Nicodranas. He finds the tin of leaves she wants buried in the back of his tea drawer, hidden there in the time since she last had a nightmare. 

This is peace—boiling the water, the gentle smell of dried tea that fills the galley every time he opens the drawer. Caduceus doesn’t have to think about clashing swords or undead denizens of the deep, rooting around in Fjord’s chest cavity. Not while he’s making tea, not at this hour.

He waits for the window to add the tea when Beau takes the peaceful quiet and breaks it,  _ pop-pop. _

“Are you alright?” she asks, abrupt.

He hums, scoops a spoon of leaves into the water. “Shouldn’t I be?”

It’s not that it was the wrong thing to say, but he didn’t intend for her to narrow her eyes like that.

“I didn’t ask about should.” Beau’s eyes are always sharp, alighting on details he’d never known were tells before he met her.

He pours himself a cup and breathes it in, continuing the steps that are much more familiar than this conversation’s become. It’s like a ritual, like a spell, what a hot drink and a deep breath can get you.

He takes a sip, wrinkles his nose. The water was too hot when he added the leaves. Beau won't mind—her discerning palate doesn't extend to tea, from what he's noticed—but it makes the experience less than what it could be.

"Life is simple," he offers, unsure what advice she's looking for.  _ Life is simple, _ his mother used to say,  _ it begins, stuff happens, it ends.  _

"Caduceus," she says, waiting for the tea to go from passable to completely over-steeped, "you’re unhappy." 

_ What? _ he thinks.  “Pardon?”

“I said, you’re unhappy.” 

She’s watching him with those sharp eyes and he has the bizarre urge to scoff. That Beau, halfway to a mess herself on any given day, thinks she’s got some kind of window into Caduceus’ soul—that’s an uncharitable thought. He stops it cold. Tries again.

It’s Beau projecting, is what it is. It must be Beau projecting, she’s been unhappy since breaking Veth’s curse, since seeing her family. Family’s tricky, Caduceus would know about that—he stops. Tries again.

Try as he might he can’t figure out what it is that’s gotten them here, him with unpleasant tea and Beau watching him with godless, faithless eyes, too sharp to do anything but hurt. It’s an unworthy thought, unworthy of both of them, but he’s... 

“Goodnight,” he says, abrupt, and flees.

(Beau watches him go, watches the stiffness in his spine and the change in his footsteps. She picks up the scalding-hot teapot and marches up to the deck, dumps its contents into the sea. She cleans it meticulously, puts away the rest of the accouterments.

First step, taken. It tastes bitter, not unlike the tea.)

\---

The next time he’s up alone in the galley, three nights later, he’s surprised to see her slip through the door. Instead of talking to him, she heads straight for the tea things and starts the process of making some. Her choice surprises him, chamomile and orange peel. Beau doesn’t like chamomile tea. Again, her palate.

She puts a mug in front of him, sets the pot down on the rickety table between them. It looks nice, wrapped in the tea cozy Marius knitted recently. Something for his hands to do, he needs something for his hands to do. Something that isn’t killing.

“Can I ask...” he starts, trailing off when Beau shakes her head. She waits, clearly counting seconds in her head, and pours him a cup.

He picks it up, spends a moment breathing the scent in. When he takes a sip, it isn’t bad at all.

"I think it makes you feel less vulnerable if you're always the person doing the giving," she says, right as he’s swallowing.

It makes him cough, which leads to her giving his back a good thump, which leads to him blinking, dazed. 

“You sure do  _ think  _ a lot,” he rasps, and it comes out meaner than he means it to, sarcastic.

It makes Beau smile, a ragged twist of her mouth. It’s not a nice smile, not one he’s ever seen from her before. It’s the kind of smile that says,  _ got you, made you look, made you lose your temper. _

“That’s me,” she says with a nod. “First mate’s gotta think  _ sometimes,  _ you know. ‘Specially with a captain like ours.”

“Fjord’s a smart man,” Caduceus objects.

“He is,” Beau agrees, before he can pick up any more steam. “Not saying he’s not. Just saying that things fall through the cracks sometimes, and it’s my job to catch them.”

Caduceus falls back on the time-honored tradition of taking another sip to avoid saying anything. It’s something he’s well-versed in, staying quiet and letting people say what they need to say. 

“How long were you alone?” Beau asks, watching him with some kind of consideration, now. Pensive. It’s the second time she’s surprised him tonight.

“What?”

“When your family went away, how long were you alone?”

How is he supposed to—what’s the right thing to say, to that? That it was ten years? That he said goodbye to all of them, that he chose to be the last to stay, he  _ chose  _ it, is that what she needs to hear? It hurts to even think it, even though it was the right thing, even though it put him in the right place at the right time. It hurts. Beau doesn’t need to know that it hurts.

“I wasn’t really alone,” he says instead. “You know, people would come by from time to time.  _ You  _ did.”

His voice is steady, of course it is, Caduceus is the steady one. Caduceus is the one who stayed home, Caduceus is the one who listens, the one who guides. He’s not—he shouldn’t have to be the talker. It’s not  _ fair. _

Beau waits for him to take another drink before she speaks again. “You met me in one of the worst times of my life. I think that’s probably how you met a lot of people. If you don’t wanna tell me how long it was, that’s your business, but I saw you see your family again. Don’t pretend it was all fine, not with me.”

Caduceus sighs. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, here.”

“Yeah, I’m not really good at this. Just, listen,” she says, leaning forward, “it’s okay. If you’re not okay, I mean. With anything.”

“What’s there to not be okay about? I’m where I need to be. When you think about it, life’s simple—”

“Don’t do that,” she interrupts, suddenly harsh.

“Do what?”

“That. That thing where you... listen. I’m not Fjord.” There’s frustration, now, in the lines of her face.

“I know that?” He blinks, a little bewildered at the turn of the conversation.

Beau sighs an explosive sigh, rubs a hand across her face. “I’m not asking you to explain something or, or put me on the right path or whatever. I’m  _ telling  _ you, as your  _ friend,  _ that if something’s wrong you can talk to me.”

Caduceus falls back on the time-honored tradition—Beau stands up, makes her way back to the doorway. She pauses there, on the threshold. Turns to look back at him.

“You know we care about you,” she says, and it’s not a question. Before he can reply, she’s gone.

_ Life is simple,  _ his mother used to say.  _ It begins, stuff happens, it ends. _

Caduceus is starting to think that  _ ‘stuff happens’  _ might’ve been a little bit of a simplification.

(Beau slips into the bunk next to Jester’s, the low sound of the cleric’s breathing in the air. It feels  _ bad,  _ to have talks like this. It makes her feel clumsy, like she can’t get the words right. She hates that feeling, especially in front of Caduceus—he didn’t know her, in those early days when Fjord had to coach her through apologies.

But there are some things you need to say, some fights you have to go into with your eyes wide open, some things you pick up as a first mate that you might miss as a captain. It’s not always enough to care—if it were enough to care they’d all be doing absolutely fucking fine—sometimes you have to confront.)

\---

The third time Beau shows up, Caduceus already has the tea made. It’s not his particular favorite, nor is it hers; dried apples and cinnamon, for warmth. He thinks Caleb might like it, which is why he picked it up back at port, but Caleb tends to spend his restless nights with his books instead of wandering the ship. He doesn’t look for comfort—thinks he doesn’t have a right to it. 

“Wanna go up on deck?” he offers, before she can say anything. The problem so far, he’s been thinking about it, is that Beau keeps setting the stakes. She’s too good at upsetting things.

She just nods, blinking slowly. He realizes, once they’re up in the cool night air, that she might not be waking up just to bug him. 

They stick close to one of the two lanterns on the deck, lingering in the puddle of yellow light near the captain’s quarters. Orly’s at the helm, a blurred outline in the misty dark. He’s got the other one with him, but all it does is give him a little glow. The sound of the ocean is all around.

“Are you keeping watch?” he asks, once she’s a little more awake. “I didn’t know we had a rotation going.”

“There’s not one. A watch, I mean.”

Caduceus waits.

“Okay, yes, I’m keeping watch. Talked about it with Caleb—he does the first part of the night, or Yasha does, sometimes. I do the second. Marius and Shelda trade off on the third.” She pauses to take a sip of the tea, nose wrinkling at the sweetness of the apple. “Sorry, uh, we didn’t wanna make a big thing about it.”

“I like to think I’m a pretty helpful guy, you know,” he says, a little tart.

“You are!” Beau yelps, before shooting a glance in Orly’s direction. “I mean,  _ you are,”  _ she continues, voice lower. “You brought Fjord back to life like ten feet away from here.”

Caduceus remembers rain, the slickness of the deck, the awful scrape of Jester’s blades against the cannons. A diamond falling to dust under his fingers, the smell of decay.  _ Life is simple,  _ his mother used to say. But Caduceus himself had defied her words, hadn’t he?  _ It ends.  _

Death is a certainty. People believe what they will about it, have their own rites and customs, but death is a certainty. Caduceus doesn’t wonder if he was right to call Fjord back—he was right, if he wasn’t right it wouldn’t have worked—but it’s. The world is big and full of tests, that’s all it is. That’s all.

“We didn’t want everybody to worry about it,” Beau says. “If something bad happened, we’d have woken everybody up. You think I’m gonna leave  _ Marius  _ in charge if something goes wrong?”

“You still should’ve told me,” he grumbles. “I’d have been nicer if I knew you had to keep killing time.”

“Would you?” Beau asks, amused. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “That’s not why I was talking to you, anyway.”

Caduceus blinks. “It wasn’t?”

“It wasn’t. I, look, I worry about you, y’know,” she says, a little stilted. Awkward. “I worry about everybody.”

“I’m not gonna put anybody in danger; my healing’s just as good as always,” he tries. 

It’s not that it’s the wrong thing to say, but he didn’t mean for her shoulders to slump like they do.

“Cad, that’s not—I’m not worried about you letting us down. I’m worried about  _ you,  _ like how I’m worried about everybody.” There’s an uncomfortable tension in Beau’s shoulders, slumped as they are. A vulnerability, when Beau hates vulnerability. 

_ Maybe I don’t get it,  _ Caduceus thinks. “Maybe I don’t get it.” 

“If you woke up tomorrow and couldn’t do any magic,” Beau says, “you would still be my friend. I would still care about you.”

Caduceus blinks. “Oh,” he starts, but it comes out smaller than he thought it would, and he doesn’t have the rest of a sentence to say.

“Yeah,  _ oh.” _

They drink cooling tea that they don’t particularly like until the sun comes up.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m not sure i hold with the idea that cad has been somehow Suffering In Silence for a long time, but i do think that he seems like the kind of person who doesn’t really spend time examining his own feelings too closely. when beau says he’s unhappy it’s a revelation—kind of a moment of her noticing something he’s not comfortable admitting to himself. beau's flexing that 18 wis score. he’s picking up on a lot of her mood from his high perception, she’s using insight to motivate a change. love them love their friendship; of all the underrated relationships of cr2 this is sure one of them.  
> this fic was a step out of my comfort zone—caduceus is such a distinctive character i worry about capturing him in writing—but i hope it was a good read! leave a comment and let me know what you think! :)


End file.
